


The View From Here

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel reconnects with his body, and with Jack, post-descension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View From Here

“I want to watch you,” I say. “I want to watch you fuck your hand. It’s beautiful. I want to watch you come. You’re beautiful.”

Daniel smiles but doesn’t believe me. This uncertainty is new, just as so much is new now. But he needs to know who he is, or more precisely who he was, and rediscovering himself sexually is just another part of that.

“Touch yourself, Daniel. Go ahead. I want this. You do, too. You love this.” I keep my voice low, quiet. He needs to know he’s safe and loved here. Time to let him learn to love himself.

And, hey, this isn’t pure altruism going on; I get off on Daniel getting off. It’s the ultimate win-win situation.

Daniel doesn’t speak. He watches me, wary eyes never leaving my face as I settle into the chair across from the bed. It creaks, sounding loud in the silence.

Diffuse light from hallway throws shadows across his face but I can see enough to know that he wants this. He just needs to trust himself.

He stretches out on top of my bed, the bed where we fucked, and laughed and cried when time and circumstances allowed, our bed, and closes his eyes. He moves slightly shaking fingers down the line of shirt buttons, pushing the soft material aside, and runs his right hand lightly across his chest.

He explores the feel of his skin, gently pinches his nipples, then lets his hand rub in soothing circles down, down his body. He takes his time. Slow and easy. His hand works lower and lower until it reaches the bulge in his slacks.

I hear a shaky intake of breath and match it with one of my own. He presses the heel of his hand hard at the base of his shaft. He moans, and it’s an aching sound. He pushes again, this time arching slightly off the bed. So good; the pressure must be so fucking good.

Daniel stretches again, languorously, like a lazy cat in the midday sun, and brings his left hand up to brace against the headboard. He sighs, and it’s a ragged, almost desperate sound, and works open his fly to free his dick. I can sense his relief. He swallows a groan and lets his legs fall open wide. He looks wanton, and fuck I love that.

Then his fingers wrap around his shaft and he pulls and it isn’t gentle. He works himself hard for a few strokes, then slows, his touch falling light, barely there, and I can almost see him noting his own reactions, mentally filing away what gives him pleasure. He’s applying his own methodology, just as he would to his work; a comparative study of different approaches … what works and what doesn’t.

He licks his lips, his breathing becomes faster and more shallow. He’s starting to lose himself, and I hope in the losing he finds a little more of what makes him ... him.

His dick is flat against his stomach as he uses his fingers, just under the head, in short, whipping strokes that take him closer to the edge. He can’t last long, and, really, this isn’t about making it last, or even making it that good.

I shift in my seat. I’m hard and leaking and I won’t touch myself because this isn’t about me, although fuck knows I’m loving every second of it.

And just when I think he’s lost in the sensation, taken away from the reality of being back and all the problems and questions that brings, just when I think there is nothing in the world for him but the intense feelings in this copy of his wonderful body, he lets out a sharp cry.

And he opens his eyes and he turns his head and he whispers, “Jack,” just once, and comes.

And I come, too, my gaze locked on his.

He shivers, curls in on himself and cups his dick and balls protectively. But he’s still looking at me and there’s something in his eyes that says, “I remember this. I remember how you cup me like this when I come.”

“Jack,” he whispers again, fighting to stay awake.

He loses that battle, but I know for a fact he’s winning the war.


End file.
